Release

Of late,
The hurt and despair of disappointment,
Has been great,
I have been to the brink.
Shutdown.
Meltdown.
Those who know intimately,
The acronym ASD.
May empathise.

But having returned from the abyss.
I find that there is still one threshold to cross.
It is difficult to explain,
But to venture into a place of such mental anguish,
Requires a similar return journey.
The cocktail of cortisol,
Mixed, not stirred,
With dry disappointment.
Leaves the brain numb and on high alert.

It takes a physical release,
A letting go,
To come back.
A long loving embrace,
Or even orgasm,
Achieves this state.

But today I discovered another way.
The reaction was identical,
Long sobs racking my body
Turning to hyperventilation.
I crumpled with the weight of it.
And the cause.
I just sang.

Intimacy

Stay present with me as we negotiate,
The uneven path that is our intimacy.
Look into my eyes,
And tell me with those mirrors of your soul,
Your darkest secrets and most private desires.
Speak the words that speak your truth.
Listen for mine.
Read my gestures.
Keep the bond unbroken.
Do not stray into,
You own secret places.
But be with me,
Until the cacophony,
Of our everyday lives intrudes,
And we must again part.

Reading to me.

When we first shared this bed,
We decided to also share books.
The intimacy of both experiencing,
Thoughts, ideas,
Or just a character's fantastical life.
Each night,
Turn on turn.
We started on our most beloved novels,
For me,
Jane Eyre, The Prodigal Summer, For Love Alone.
For him, Gerald Durrell and Harry Potter Books.
The idea seemed sound.
But he could only stay alert if seeing the script before his eyes.
I dismayed, watched as he re-read my previously orated chapter.
So we found a new pattern.
I listen,
He reads.
All goes well until sleep overtakes him mid chapter.
The slurring and losing his place are the precursors.
I enjoy letting the pictures form in my head,
Until he puts on a discordant voice for an accented characterisation.
His attempt at an Australian accent the most jarring.
But generally his soft tenor pleasantly strokes my eardrums.
And I can think of none so pleasant, passing of an afternoon,
Than laying together in the warm sunshine,
Sharing a book.